My drive home from the arena is the first chance I get to sit with my thoughts without any other noise or distractions, so it’s become an important part of my own post-game analysis.
I’ll still watch every minute of footage from multiple camera angles over the next few days, but there’s nothing that compares with this quiet time alone, while everything is still fresh in my mind.
Like that shot in the second period. My positioning was good, but I hesitated for just a moment before committing. It worked out in my favor this time, but that half-second of hesitation would’ve cost me against a better shooter.
Then I had another stroke of blind luck in the third, when I was too fucking slow to bring my hand up. I somehow still deflected the shot with my shoulder, but it wasn’t pretty.
And lucky saves aren’t good enough. I can’t count on luck to win championships.
I make a few more mental notes as I drive. Tomorrow’s practice needs to focus on reaction time. More drills. More reps. I already have good reflexes—great ones, most people would say—but that doesn’t give me an excuse to start slacking now.
The gate to the neighborhood opens and I pull through, still organizing my thoughts until my house comes into view. It’s a hulking mass in the darkness, and it never occurred to me how lonely and desolate the place looks with only the single porch light that I insist stays on while I’m gone.
Heather’s car isn’t in the driveway, which means she must still be out enjoying her night of freedom while April is with Margo.
Good for her. She deserves a break more than anyone I know.
I pull into the garage and cut the engine, then grab my gear bag and gingerly climb down from the cab of my truck. My muscles are still sore from the game, but winning more than makes up for the dull ache that I’ll probably be feeling until sometime tomorrow morning.
My brain is already two steps ahead as I walk from the garage to the kitchen, already thinking about the electrolytes I need to replenish and how I should probably take an ice bath before?—
“Holy shit.” I stop in my tracks and my mouth falls open as I try to think of something better to say, but nothing is coming to mind.
Because Heather is standing in the doorway directly across from me that leads from the kitchen to the living room. She’s wearing a black dress I’ve never seen before that hugs her curves, stops mid-thigh, and makes every part of my aching body come alive.
She’s wearing her hair down tonight, and her makeup is a little heavier than usual around her eyes, but that only makes them more noticeable in the dim lamplight.
But it’s not just the way she looks, and she looks fucking gorgeous. It’s the energy I can feel all the way across the room. The way she’s standing perfectly still and watching me with an expression that’s so intense it would probably take my breath away if I wasn’t already about to hyperventilate.
Every thought I was having about hockey—about those drills and that moment of hesitation in the second period, about angles and positioning and reaction time—is gone in the blink of an eye.
All that’s left is her.
“I didn’t think anyone else was here,” I say, clearing my throat to get the words out. Seeing her like this has made my throat go dry, and I’ve given up on hiding it or trying to play it cool.
I’m pretty sure those options were never on the table to begin with.
“I’ve been doing some thinking,” she says without fully acknowledging that I spoke at all. “I want it to be you. Only you.”
I don’t have any idea what she means, but every instinct in my body is telling me to get my ass across this fucking room and take her into my arms. Thankfully, there’s still enough blood flow to my brain to keep me from doing anything that impulsive.
For now, at least.
“What do you mean?” I ask, not fully trusting those same instincts that have gotten me so far in every other aspect of my life. “Only me?”
She takes a step forward and starts to reach out toward me before dropping her hand back to her side. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about everything that’s happened between us. In the sauna. Then in that hallway. Then the arena. And at The Hideout.” She exhales and swallows hard, and I can see how difficult this is for her. She has almost as much trouble opening up and being vulnerable as I do, although for completely different reasons. “Every time I close my eyes and try to focus on something else, you’re there.”
Another step forward.
“I’ve been stuck, Grant. Stuck in this body I barely recognize, and so numb that I just go through the motions day after day.I’ve been like this for so many years that I forgot what it felt like to actually feel anything.”
Her voice is trembling—hell, her whole body seems to be trembling now—and I want to help. I want to tell her I’ve been having similar thoughts, that she isn’t alone in this… whatever this is.
“Heather—”
But she shakes her head and holds up a hand to cut me off. “Let me finish. Please. If I don’t get everything out right now, I don’t think I ever will. I forgot what it felt like until you came along. Now, suddenly, I’m starting to wake up again. My body is remembering what it’s like to feel and to live, and I want…” She pauses again, and looks down at the floor for a moment before meeting my gaze once more. “I want you to help me. I want you to make my body come alive again.”
She’s saying everything I want to hear, and I have to clench and unclench my hands just to keep from reaching out and pulling her close to me without another thought.
